More Than Just A Student
by AwkwardedOut
Summary: Hibari Kyoya loves his school. It's a fact and everyone knows it. But what does Namimori Middle School think of its steadfast defender?
1. The Love of a School

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

AN: I wrote this story a while ago to entertain a friend as a birthday gift. It is not meant to be a serious fic, in case anyone couldn't tell. It was meant to be humorous—in an odd way—more than anything.

**The Love of a School:**

With all my years as the Namimori Middle School, I have seen every student and instructor come and go through my corridors. The stomping sounds of the students' trampling feet have become a familiar rhythm upon my polished floors. The instructors make a click-clack sound against the hard linoleum as they make their way to the classrooms. Not a single one has ever captivated my attention such as him. In fact, from the very moment he first stepped within my corridor, he has held my undivided attention.

Hibari Kyoya is the embodiment of perfection in each and every way. His silken hair flows from his head to lay atop the stone of my building. Every inch, every centimeter it lengthens fills me with delight, for it means more of my ground is covered by the strands that surpass even the softness of satin. From the vantage point of my higher structures, I admire the way the shining glosses accentuate his locks of darkest night. Even the sun acknowledges his beauty and seeks to enhance it by casting its glow upon him—but of course such a glorious creature deserves no less. His hair creates such contrast against his pale, flawless skin that his beauty is heightened even further. His beauty surpasses that of even heavenly beings. And, hidden beneath the strands of his raven hair that perfectly frame his delicately pale face are his eyes.

I have witnessed this glorious being's eyes send such chilling glares that the recipients are rendered immobile as if frozen in ice. Upon me, however, he imparts a warmer gaze. My inner fixtures stop functioning as I swoon from every gaze cast my way by those steely gray orbs. It warms the stones of my being that he reserves this gaze of love solely for me. The lights in my classrooms and corridors go out; the water flowing through my pipes stops running as I shut down, overwhelmed by the intensity they emit. It is through those mirrors into his soul that I know he truly cares for me.

His lips... Oh, his lips! They curl into the most wondrous smiles! Those smiles upon that angelic face melted my heart until it was no more—an absolutely astonishing feat, not the least of which is because I do not have a heart to melt. But that is beside the point. Those smiles make me glow from within—so brightly that the fixtures emit such blinding light that the rooms' occupants must squeeze their eyes shut. Behind their closed lids, still their eyes protest against the brightness. Even his scowls heighten his beauty. Those lips are so suited to uttering threats on a daily basis and sending shivers in the forms of minor tremors down my frame. To feel the touch of that smile... Oh, how I wish to be the delicious morsels of food that are pressed against his lips before passing through.

His voice, melodic. It is as beautiful as a choir of angels, as dangerous as a siren's song. It lures one in with taunting words for a deadly fate. His favorite phrase is spoken, then those who try him fall. That voice that can switch from being as soft as the feathers of angels' wings to more cutting than the deadliest blade. It is a voice that makes even threats of the grimmest nature into the most alluring sound in the world.

He has arms that are strong despite their appearance. They befit his superbly lithe frame. They extend down into his wrists which are capable of switching the position of his weapons with the slightest twist. They are thin to the point that someone could wrap a thumb and forefinger around the wrist and have them touch. Below the wrists are his hands. One would never expect such slender hands to wield weapons to such a degree of deadliness, or for those same hands to be capable of inflicting such damage upon others. It is with those hands that he protects me from the vandals and delinquents who would otherwise trash my exterior with graffiti, bludgeon me with bats, and impale shards of glass in my grounds.

Most look forward to the evenings, for that is when school is let out and they are free. I look forward to the day, when the rising sun brings with it that dear boy. The majority of his time here is spent resting upon my rooftop. Time and again he lies down on the asphalt floor, worn smooth by his daily visits, and so I keep my rooftop meticulously clean lest his clothes are dirtied. As a reward, I am allowed to admire his lithe frame stretched out along the floor, watching the muscles ripple across his trim body—of which even the slimmest females are envious—with every movement. The feel of the boy's firm buttocks sitting upon my rooftop make me ecstatic with joy. The heat from the boy's human body warms me more than the rays of the sun on the hottest summer's day.

His legs, they are long and slender. They carry him from one place to another, one stance to the next, with such fluidity it is as if he is gliding. They are strong enough to hold their ground against any enemy, no matter how powerful. They know his mind, his dislike for defeat, and even higher dislike for retreat. As such, they carry him forward in battle, always forward. Forward step, swing, kick. Always moving forward, always by my side. His movement is a form of art in and of itself. A masterpiece. Perfection.


	2. Not a Day Without

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Not ****a Day Without:**

Not a day goes by that he does not come by to visit me. Six days out of seven, he attends school. While that may seem like the duties of a student, he rarely attends the classes themselves. Instead, he spends his time roaming the empty halls between classes to make sure no one is skipping. Otherwise, he could be doing work for the group he has formed, populated by his followers—those who look up to him for his strength and leadership. This, he does in the best room in my entire building. The best furniture, the most comfort, the most space. Only the best for him, because he _deserves_ only the best. If not doing either of those, he could be on my rooftop, enjoying the warm weather and the blue sky. His stays always far outlast anyone else's. He remains on my grounds far longer than necessary, and therefore I value this time all the more.

When the sun sets on those days, I compare the beauty of the sky above with that of the boy below, and the latter far outshines the former. His is a beauty that cannot be captured by any form of expression or portrayal, be it a photograph, painting, words... All attempts are futile. They will always fall short, for nothing can match him. Therefore, nothing can truly describe him.

There is one day out of the week that the students are not required to attend school. The last day of the week. I was resigned to suffer that one day that I would not see him each and every week. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this was not so! I had to have been the happiest thing in the world that day, when I saw the familiar dark form walking through my gates. It was him! It was really him! I was so happy that my windows practically sparkled with my joy.

I provide solace for him, so he constantly seeks me out. He constantly comes to see me. Some days he has work to do for his committee of followers. Others, he spends in comfort and relaxation with me. My favorite time is winter, when the heaters with which I am equipped keep him warm from the biting cold outside. I adore the flush of his skin as he walks in from the cold. The red tinge of his cheeks so enhance his beauty, I am left breathless—a problem for the students if they enter the building and find themselves unable to breathe for lack of oxygen. Well, it just can't be helped in his presence. He is so adorable that he causes the metal of my inner workings to squeal with glee.

There are also days when the dear boy ventures out into the chilling cold to train. He is always seeking to better himself, to become stronger. It is a most admirable pursuit, and my heaters warm the room further, eager to thaw him upon his return. I watch him from my station as he prepares his ammunition behind the school gates. His hands are sure as they mold and shape the snow. His aim is flawless as he tosses the rounds of snow at passersby. He targets everyone indiscriminately, equal in his attacks.

I cannot understand the disgruntled looks of the passersby as they are hit repeatedly. Do they not delight in that small curl of his lip as he smiles? Do they not sense the joy the activity brings him? Do they not see that he wants to improve through training? How can they not feel honored that he has used them to accomplish this goal?


	3. Worry

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Worry:**

It started as the occasional sniffle throughout the day. Then his usually melodic voice became coarser, irritated. There was also the heat around his brow. When he did not show up for school today, I was at first devastated. It had been a long time since I had not seen him at least once every day.

Then, I became worried—immensely—for his health. He had not been in his usual spirits yesterday—I should have recognized the signs. He still punished all who violated school regulations, but it was with less vigor than I was accustomed to. After decades with so many humans under my care, I should have seen. Perhaps I did not realize how dire the situation was because to me, they were just students and teachers; not one of them was anyone special, for I have never paid such attention to anyone as I have to that boy. Or perhaps, I truly thought the dear boy was invincible. Immune to all ailments, superior in every way to the rest of the world. No, I still believe him to be superior to everyone else; no other human can compare to him. This is but a trial, and he shall conquer it, for he is the very definition of perfection.

I shall count the days until we reunite. For every day that he is not here, my pain and sorrow will multiply. I long to admire that angelic exterior and stare into the depths of his eyes once more. Without the sight of that dear boy for sustenance, I fear the stones of my building may topple upon the heads of those within and crumble to dust. No. I must stay strong. I couldn't bear to hurt my lovely boy by allowing him to return to a schoolyard full of rubble.

* * *

><p><strong>Jealousy:<strong>

He has returned! The moment that I heard his sure footsteps within the building, I knew that he had come back to me.

Jealous? Why would I be jealous of the hospital? It was only two days that he was there—two long, painful days that he wasn't lounging upon my rooftop. How dare that hussy hosp—No, I'm not jealous. Of course not. I am just glad that he has returned in good health. The delinquents had started becoming bold during his absence, but now he can once more beat law and order into the troublemakers. What a beautiful sight…

* * *

><p><strong>Until Graduation Do Us Part:<strong>

Three years. We have been together for three glorious years. How unjust the school system is, to forcefully separate us after we have formed such a deep bond. However, that cherished boy is intelligent just as he is gifted.

As a sign of his devotion to me, he spends every day with me. We are often in each other's company, with no one to come between us. As a result, his attendance in class is nonexistent. Since I am the school, I am privy to all that goes on within. Therefore it was inevitable that I should bear audience to the moment when that child met with an instructor within my walls. The instructor informed him that due to his lack of attendance in class, he would be held back. This meant that the boy would have to repeat the year until he sufficiently met the requirements for advancement.

Joy gushed through me in the form of intense fluorescent lights and spraying faucets. Another year, possibly more. Our love can bloom, feeding the gardens until they overflow. Our burning devotion shall be the rays of life for the most beautiful flowers to blossom. They will be watered by the tears others cry at the purity of our love. They will become resilient from the strength of our unbreakable bond. No one will ever be able to cut down these symbols of what we share.


	4. Stolen

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

* * *

><p><strong>Stolen:<strong>

I indulge him. I should not, but I cannot say no to the one whom I cherish most. I allow him to fight his battles on my rooftop with that man who does not belong here. That man who attacks him as none other ever has, harms him, draws his blood. Every crack of his weapon against the boy's porcelain skin is like a gouge in my walls.

There is little that I can do to avenge him, but I do what I can. A spill of liquid conveniently leaked from a pipe, flowing across the floor as he walks down the hall; a door that swings outward of its own accord, just as he approaches; inanimate objects pelting him as he enters a room... It eases me to see that hint of a smile upon the boy's face at the embarrassment of his opponent.

None of these deter that man from coming, is, until one day, he did not show up on the rooftop. I should have been so ecstatic that the stones practically hummed. Why wasn't I? The intruder was gone, but he had taken my boy with him to some far corner of the world where I was not. There, the boy would stay in the care of that man, one who was incapable of providing the same love I gave. There, I cannot greet the man with an inconspicuous pole sticking out as he passed by, or a loose stone beneath his foot during battle. There, I cannot help my dear at all.

* * *

><p><strong>My (Nonexistent) Heart Unbreaks:<strong>

With that boy's absence, the troublemakers have become bolder. Not just the students who attend here, but outsiders as well. Their goal seems to be to make use of his absence to cause mayhem, to fight on my grounds, to demolish me block by block.

Wherever I turn my gaze, there are manipulative women, inappropriately dressed students, and strangers dressed in uniforms that are not associated with this school. There are new additions built every night: a battle arena that sucks up precious amounts of my energy for its large lights; a large tower to attract lightning that scars my boy's beloved napping grounds; turbines that splinter my doors, shatter my windows, and demolish entire classrooms. Once my love returns, I know he will make them pay for the disrespect and damages put upon me, but when that is, I do not know.

Lo and behold, as soon as these thoughts make themselves known, a familiar figure strides through the gateway. I know his face so well I can see—even in the darkness of night—the anger he feels. Violence on my grounds is against the rules, but he is the exception to them—he is always the exception to any rule. To be able to see that godly figure smite those who oppose him is a sight that will be burned into my memory for as long as I stand.

Suddenly, a feeling of shame rises within. Look at me! Wrecked, broken tiles and smashed windows along every face of my being. How can I let him gaze upon me when I am broken and dirty?

However, the shame and self-loathing is soon banished from my mind upon his closeness. Pure joy engulfs me at the sight of him after all those long, lonely days—I lost count of how many. There seemed little point in keeping track of the days we were not together—it would only increase the despondent aura that had surrounded me since his absence. So much happier it would be to keep track of only the days we were together. Tonight, I can start the count once more.

It was a joy to see him disciplining the intruders. None of them were a match for him. It was worth being trespassed upon and broken into to be able to witness that wondrous being and his loving devotion once more. That he had returned to me, that he would defend me with such resolve, that he would take on the whole of the enemy—my supports could melt from it all. The anger upon that face and emanating from his entire being is so very endearing. Murderous intent never looked so appealing on any other person.

* * *

><p><strong>Column of Support:<strong>

I cannot uproot myself from the foundations upon which I was built, but I am there for him any way that I can. I moved the mines beneath his gliding feet to other locations so that nothing would maim those precious limbs. I softened the ground beneath him so that his beautiful face would not be grazed by the rocks beneath. I was the soft ground upon which he—even when taken by surprise—gracefully fell when the monster shot him with a beam. I was the wall upon which he leaned his body when he stumbled so fluidly it seemed intentional. I was the column he held when his weariness took hold. Should he be on school grounds, I am there for him, looking out for him, making sure everything is suited to his needs.

* * *

><p><strong>Restored to Beauty:<strong>

After the tumultuous affairs of the past week, I had begun to feel extremely run-down. The women who caused my state of dilapidation had people cast illusions over me to hide the damage from the eyes of the students and staff. Even so, I felt that one person could see through the illusions, and could see how I was no longer in pristine condition. I did not want him to gaze upon me with those intense gray eyes—not the way I was. I was miserable whenever I assessed my own condition, and knew that he could see all my faults. I would no longer be the school sparkling with beauty in his eyes.

I despise those women for ruining my state of being, the school that child knew and loved. I did not thank them when they restored me to a complete state; I only despised them more for the pain they caused. He made rounds of the school, assessing the repairs made, and deemed them acceptable. A great draft flowed through the building as I inhaled air from outside. I was the school he loved again. Only then did I enjoy his eyes upon me once more.


End file.
